


Where I Intended to Go

by thedevilchicken



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Comfort, Dreams and Nightmares, First Time, M/M, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 08:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16425770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Marcus wakes from a dream, not sure if he's still dreaming.





	Where I Intended to Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sir_Bedevere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/gifts).



Sometimes, at night, Marcus lies awake in bed and he thinks - in a particularly maudlin way - about the things he's done. 

He thinks about the places he's been and the people he's met and how sometimes his collar chafed as he signed a cross in the fetid air. He thinks about the open squares he's crossed at night, whose stones passing beneath his feet had already forgotten the heat of the sun. He thinks about narrow streets that wind between tall buildings like the tightening coils of a snake. He thinks of dark stairs that lead to dark rooms, and the things that are within them even now.

Sometimes, at night, Marcus drifts to fitful sleep. And in that fitful sleep, he dreams. 

He dreams of running through those squares and down those streets, his breath quick and his footfalls loud. He dreams of running up those stairs into those rooms. Within them are the ones he couldn't save and death took first. Within them some of the ones he did save also linger, the ones who didn't have it in them to go on living after. Possession takes them to the brink of the abyss; once they have stared into it, he knows not all can make it back. He wonders sometimes if he has himself, though he's not sure if those moments when he wonders are his least lucid or his most.

Sometimes, at night, Marcus wakes in a cold sweat in a strange room, in a place he couldn't name for those first thirty seconds even if his life depended on it. 

It's happened for years, all over the world. Is this Mexico City or Málaga? Is this Buenos Aires or Bucharest? Is it some town so small he can't even find it on the old tattered map he found in the boot of his hire car with the sad-looking spare tire, never mind the temperamental satnav? It takes a while, as he breathes hard, as his head swims, for him to place himself in space and time. Sometimes he keeps a local newspaper on the table by the bed, above the drawer where the Gideon Bible sits. Sometimes, if he remembers it's there, it actually helps. 

Tonight, he dreamed. Tonight, he's woken. He rubs his face with both hands in the unfamiliar dark until the sodium-orange light peeking in between the cracks around the door and the curtains that won't meet seems almost enough to see by. He sees something move out of the corner of his eye, between his fingers, and in that first moment he's not sure what it is: is that a person, is it all in his head, or is it something else completely? His heart is still racing from the things inside his dream that he couldn't quite remember even if he wanted to (he doesn't) and his skin crawls with uncertainty. 

Then the bed dips at his side. He feels a hand rest lightly against his chest over the starchy bedsheet. 

"You were dreaming," Tomas says, and in the hazy light Marcus can almost but not quite make out the features of his face. 

"Was I?" he replies, though he knows the answer. 

"You know, you talk in your sleep," Tomas says.

"Do I?" he replies, though he knows that, too. 

"You said my name." 

"Did I?"

Tomas sighs. "Yes, you did," he says. "The way you said it..."

"Which way was that?"

Tomas moves. He pulls back the sheets that are so stiff they almost crinkle and he nudges Marcus with the back of one hand until he takes the hint and shuffles over not quite awkwardly, and Tomas lies down next to him. He doesn't explain it, and Marcus doesn't ask him to. His attention is all in the place at the back of his wrist that the back of Tomas's hand is touching.

"Which way was that?" he asks again. "Like I was scared? Like I needed help? Were you trying to save me, Tomas?"

"I think you needed help, yes," Tomas says, but the words seem carefully constructed, as if something else is hiding underneath. Marcus huffs out an irritated breath and turns away toward the door, and he expects it to end there exceptTomas follows. He feels him turn against the mattress and he knows which way he turned because it didn't pull the sheets half off him. He feels a hand bump his hip over his underwear then Tomas shifts in even closer. He can feel Tomas's bare chest press against his bare back. He can feel Tomas's bare arm around his bare waist. It's unexpected and it should be unwelcome, but the fact is he's been alone for a very long time. Maybe he should mind, but he doesn't.

"What are you doing?" Marcus asks.

"I think I had the same dream," Tomas replies. 

"You know, that's not really an answer." 

Tomas chuckles nervously against the back of one of Marcus's shoulders, which is where he's pressed his mouth. It's hot like a brand, like every inch of his skin against him is, like he's burning from the inside out. It's like he's not quite himself except his nervous laughter says he is. 

"Honestly?" he says. "I don't know. I don't know, Marcus. What _am_ I doing?"

Marcus turns to face him, maybe to confront him, but when he does, Tomas pushes him down flat on his back on the mattress. Tomas gets on top of him, clumsily, because it's dark or maybe just because he's nervous. They're a tangled press of limbs in awkward places, one against the other, like this is an accident and not Tomas's design. 

"What are you doing?" Marcus asks again, when Tomas pins his hands above his head. He can almost see him, or maybe that's just a trick of the faint orange light. 

"I don't know," Tomas says. " _I don't know_." So, Marcus brings his knees up at either side of Tomas's hips. He pauses for a second, then he wraps his legs around Tomas's waist. He cinches them at the ankles to hold him close. 

"Is this what you want?" he asks him, bluntly. 

"I don't know," Tomas replies. 

Marcus wrests his wrists free. He drags his nails slowly down the length of Tomas's bare back. 

"Is this what you want?" he asks him. 

"I don't know," Tomas replies. His voice sounds tight. 

Marcus takes a breath to steady himself, though the air just there smells like Tomas's shampoo over over-laundered motel sheets, and doesn't help. Then he pushes one hand between the two of them. He releases his legs from around Tomas's waist so he can push that hand down under the waist of Tomas's underwear. He wraps his hand around Tomas's cock. He'd like to think that doesn't thrill him. 

"Is _this_ what you want?" he asks him. He hears himself. He sounds strained and raw. 

Tomas's next breath in is far from steady. " _Yes_ ," he says, all breathy and broken, and Marcus knows he believes him. He doesn't even have to wait for his cock to stiffen up to know what he's said's the truth.

"You'll regret this in the morning," Marcus says. 

"Yes, probably," Tomas replies, but by then he's already leaning back to push his underwear down over his hips. 

"You know, I'm not your girlfriend," Marcus says. "I don't have a husband you can send me back to." 

"I didn't imagine you did," Tomas replies, and kneeling there between his thighs he tucks his fingers down into the waist of Marcus's underwear, fumbling in the dark. He pulls down. He moves so he can pull it off entirely, so they're both bare with the sheets pushed back. 

"I won't pretend it didn't happen, either," Marcus says. "Don't do it if you'll be ashamed. They'll use it against you."

"I'm not ashamed," Tomas replies. He wraps one hand around Marcus's cock that's lying there half-hard against his belly. "I don't think inexperience is the same as shame. Do you?"

Marcus chuckles lowly. He puts one hand over Tomas's and makes him squeeze him tighter. Tomas doesn't seem to mind. He seems enthusiastic. Marcus thinks it's that enthusiasm he responds to after that almost as much as it's his touch.

There's a tube of moisturiser that Marcus has been using on his hands almost obsessively since the weather started turning cold and he thinks, well, sink or swim, and stretches over toward the wall next to the bed to turn on the light and find it; either Tomas will scamper away like he's been burned or things will carry on regardless. Once the light's on, Tomas stares. He stares at his own hand under Marcus's hand around Marcus's cock, his cheeks all flushed, his own cock erect. 

"I'm up here, you know," Marcus says, half convinced it's finished almost as soon as it's begun, but Tomas laughs, embarrassed, and looks up at his face. Tomas's eyes are so dark as he looks at him. Tomas's lips are parted, and he lets go of Marcus's cock except it's not so he can run away like some kind of naughty schoolboy. It's so he can run his palms over Marcus's thighs and his hips and his waist and his chest, leaning forward, leaning over, till he's propped up there on top of him, so close he can feel the heat of him. 

Tomas kisses him. Tomas presses his mouth to his. And Marcus thinks sense dictates they take it slowly, but in seconds that kiss becomes a desperate, needy thing. Seconds later, breathless, flushed, surprised, Marcus presses the damned moisturiser into Tomas's palm. Tomas nods. He sits back on his heels, and Marcus leans up to watch him slick himself with it, thickly, root to tip. Tomas smiles at him nervously. He shuffles back in close. 

When Tomas rubs the tip of his cock between Marcus's cheeks, Marcus thinks about turning the lights back off. There's a notion that it might be easier in the dark, like this started, but in the end he leaves them on. He's looking at Tomas as he slips against his hole and laughs at himself, thumbs himself back into position and tries again, and again, till finally Marcus feels himself give. He feels the moment Tomas's cock pushes into him and it's been years, it's been decades, it's such a fucking tight fit it takes his breath away. He wraps his legs around Tomas's waist again, not totally sure how he hasn't slipped a disc with all his damned bedroom gymnastics, and Tomas groans as he pushes in right to the hilt. 

"Is this okay?" Tomas asks, so earnestly that it makes Marcus's face crease into a smile as he reaches up to cup his prickly jaw. 

"Well, it's a bit too late now if it's not," he replies, amused, then he raises his eyebrows suggestively. "Look, as much as I'm enjoying this little interlude, you might want to get on with it." 

Tomas nods tightly. He shifts his hips, awkwardly, but that's more than enough to make Marcus groan. Then he begins to move in him in earnest, and Marcus cannot summon up another word to say.

Tomas doesn't even have to touch him; Marcus comes from it of his own accord, feeling oddly lightheaded and more than a bit surprised. And he can feel it, moments later, when Tomas bucks in hard and gives a strangled little unattractive moan; he pulses hard and Marcus feels his hips jerking against him almost of their own accord. It's better than he'd thought it might be. But then Tomas scowls, while he's still pushed up inside him. 

"Something wrong?" Marcus asks. 

"We should probably have used a condom," Tomas replies, and Marcus laughs. 

"Is that all?" he says. "Did you have one?"

"Well, no." 

"And I know I didn't. Did you want to stop, put your clothes on and go try to find a chemist's at three in the morning?"

"No, but..."

"You know, Tomas," he says, "somewhat depressingly, I haven't had sex since before you were born. And if you're concerned about the mess, well, the good news is we do have indoor plumbing." 

Tomas smiles and shakes his head despairingly. He pulls back. He pulls out. "Do you want the shower or should I?" he asks. 

"Is there a compelling reason we can't go together?"

Tomas considers this. When he gets up, he holds out one hand, and Marcus takes it. He stands. He's a mess, and so is Tomas, but he steps in close. Tomas doesn't hesitate; he leans up and kisses him, slowly and not well, but Marcus really doesn't give a damn about his expertise. 

And later, when they're clean and mostly dry and they turn off the light again, Tomas slings one arm straight over Marcus's chest. He snores, but Marcus doesn't really mind. It makes him feel like he's not alone because, for once, he's not. 

Sometimes, at night, Marcus lies in bed and thinks about the things he's done. Tonight, he lies in bed and thinks about this thing _they've_ done, born of a dream he can't remember. 

In all likelihood, they're going to regret it, even if he hopes he's wrong. He's not even sure he's not just dreamed it, or that who he did it with is really Tomas and not some errant demon he's let in. But when he sleeps, for once his sleep's not fitful. 

In the morning, it won't matter where he is as long as they're still side by side. He genuinely hopes that Tomas feels the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, the title comes from one of Douglas Adams's Dirk Gently books, ridiculously enough. The full quote is: "I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be".


End file.
